


5 times Peter Nureyev dressed up for Juno Steel, and 1 time he didn’t

by SpaceJackalope



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (easily skippable), 5+1 Things, Fake Identities, Fluff, Gift Fic, I love Rita and you should too, Juno and Peter working together, Other, Penumbra Podcast Holiday Exchange 2017, Rated M for sex + action + injury, Romance, Smut, a drag show, gratuitous descriptions of clothing, several different cases including
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceJackalope/pseuds/SpaceJackalope
Summary: Peter likes to dress to impress, even when he's being shot at. But sometimes love has other ideas.A story about intimacy, vulnerability, and what to wear when you're a space thief in love with a space detective, in space.





	1. 1)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Penumbra Podcast Holiday exchange gift for @ticktockparadox on Tumblr! You can see everything we all did during this swap at penumbraexchange.tumblr.com. And you Should, because this is an extremely talented fandom. 
> 
> ticktockparadox requested some Peter Nureyev #Content, and suggested "5 times Peter changed his identity, and 1 time he didn't have to." This became...not quite that. But I think the spirit is similar. I loved writing it, and I hope you love reading it, whether you're my giftee or another reader!
> 
> Please note that the content for each chapter varies somewhat. If you'd like an idea of sexual or violent content before you reach it, take a look at the notes at the start of each!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: Some makin' out, possibly foolin' around. But mainly hangin' out and doin' work.

Mister Steel attracts a lot of really interesting people. Part of that, Rita figures, is just the fact that he’s a _famous detective_. He gets so many people in the office with scary tattoos and big hats and sad eyes and curves in places Rita didn’t know were _possible_. It’s _fantastic_.

He doesn’t have a lot of Special Callers, if you know what I mean, in all honesty. So the very _idea_ that someone would come by, with butter chicken for three and a bath bomb in fancy packaging for one, simply to make Mister Steel smile? Stop the presses and get the confetti cannon.

He’s _very_ handsome, Mister Steel’s gentleman caller. He reminds her a bit of that nice Agent Glass, but he moves so much more fluidly, and he wears glasses. And a nose ring. Somehow, she feels like that’s not Dark Matters’ _style_.

Anyway, Mister Steel’s gentleman caller is pretty great.

Today is Valentine’s Day. That, if Rita’s being real, is _so romantic_. “Good afternoon, Rita,” he says, his jewelry sparkling almost as much as his smile. She can’t help it, not that she’d want to: she giggles.

“Why, _hello_ , sir. Mister Steel just stepped out on a coffee run, since our machine’s broken, but I’m _awful_ glad you’re here, and I know Mister Steel will be, too.” She pats his arm. “So you sit yourself down wherever you like, and your special lady will be here any minute. Ooh! I’ve got this tin of toffee my friend Franny gave me, have one, why doncha, no, really. They’re _great._ ”  

The gentleman chuckles gently, a bit shy. “Thank you, Rita. May I take a look at the coffeemaker?”

“Eh?”

“See if I can fix it?”

“Oh! Oh, sir, that’d be _too_ kind of you, of course you may, but are you sure you really want to?”

But he’s already on his knees beside her little card table, poking at it with a screwdriver and a flashlight. Rita smiles to herself and flicks her magazine open. It’s _so_ nice that Mister Steel fell for someone who’s handy. _Such_ a nice quality in any person, and even better in a match for someone who can go a week without noticing someone threw a brick through his window, for _pity’s_ sake, Juno. She hopes they’re good for each other. They seem pretty good. Every single time she’s around them, Juno goes soft around his eyes, and his special friend can’t take his eyes off Juno. In the days during and after his suitor’s visits to Hyperion City, Mister Steel gets…not good, exactly. He’s _never_ good at taking care of himself. But better. Even when he’s having a bad day, a recent dose of his gentleman friend seems to make it easier for him to remember his basic needs, and remember this too shall pass. It could just be love in general, but Juno’s dated other people since she’s known him. This one has by far been the best. Rita approves of him _very_ much. She has a moodboard all made for their wedding. Maybe they’ll even actually get engaged someday.

Juno, she thinks, should wear gold lipstick. Mr…. _himself_ will pick out his own clothes. Him, Rita trusts. Today he’s wearing an eggplant-colored watered silk shirt with close-fitting gray trousers, and a cream and silver underbust corset with a pattern of dahlias bending to form loose heart shapes. It’s _delicious_.

He fixes the coffee machine, because of course he does. Juno comes in the moment he’s done, because _of course he does_. “Rita,” he says breathlessly, thrusting her cup in her general direction, “they were out of dragonfruit syrup so I got passionfruit. Is that similar?” He notices his caller, kneeling on the floor. “Oh,” he says, “hi…you.” Flustered, he tries to push his hair out of his face, but hits himself in the forehead with his travel mug. Tall dark and handsome kisses Juno on the sore spot. Rita clasps her hands together.   

Juno runs his hand through his friend’s hair. “Fancy meeting you here,” he says.

“Brought you both lunch. And intel on the zinnia thieves.” The _zinnia thieves_? The ones she hacked this morning? What does Mister Steel’s boyfriend even _do_ , anyway?

Y’know, here’s a good question: Does _Juno_ know the name of his gentleman caller? Cause it’d sure be nice if _some_ body did.

This Guy, whatever he’s called, sure does have a lotta information. He’s got a floorplan almost as good as Rita’s, nice botanical diagrams, identifying marks of poisonous butterflies, surveillance footage from an angle she couldn’t quite get, and a small vial containing the pure essence of the rare Heirloom Space Zinnia. Rita is impressed with that last one. There are some things you just can’t hack.

“Oh, Mister Steel,” she says pointedly, “ _your friend_ sure did a great job, huh?”

He smiles at the man beside him with a guilty start. Hell yeah, results—“Thank you, sweetheart.” Dammit! How hard can it be to say a guy’s name?

“No need to thank me, Juno. Rita’s the one we really should be showing some appreciation, I’d say.”

“Oh, stop!”

“Miss Rita, do you imagine we could get _anything_ done without the codes for the alarm? Why, we’d be laser-fried alive.”

Rita’s giggling again. “Oh— _sir_ , really!” C’mon, she thinks, tell me to call you by your first name. C’mon, “Please call me Alphonse/Zorba/Dave. I insist.”

But no. “Don’t be so modest, Rita!”

Juno coughs unconvincingly. “Um, honey? I’ve got some uhhhhh catalogs in my office. That I wanted to show you. They’ve got. Rubber? Boots. That’d be good for you. At work?” It’s obvious he doesn’t know what word is coming out of his mouth next—or what he’s just said, for that matter.

His caller sets his takeout container down carefully on the card table, so it’ll be out of Rita’s way. “That sounds very _interesting_ , Detective. Why don’t we go take a look right away.” And they vanish into the next room, closing the door behind them. Rita decides this might be a good moment to turn on a stream. Or some music. Something.

She calls Franny.

“Oh, we’re just working on a big case for Mr. DiMaggio. SPEAKING of whom, if I were you, Franny, I’d keep a _very_ close eye on the clerks at that one bookstore we went after seeing a movie on your half-birthday, you know the one I mean? No, with the green restroom. Yeah, that one! What’s that? What does it have to do with the Saffron Prince of Mars? Franny! I could never be so _indiscreet_ to suggest _someone_ bought exotic flowers for a certain clerk, and is very likely to be publicly connected with that lucky young man in a _romantic_ sense, very soon! Get the scoop, Franny! No, I don’t know which one. He’s _probably_ handsome. Or charming. Or maybe really smart? I mean, I dunno, figure out which one’s most _unusual_ , I guess? Oh, Franny. Unfortunately, he’s probably about twice as shallow as you’re thinking. It won’t be an ordinary guy. Ooooh! Franny, you know the classic cinema in Middle-Aged Town? Yeah! They’re showing your favorite movie! No, the one with your fish boyfriend. No, the other one. Yeah! Franny, we should go!”

The door to Mister Steel’s office opens, and here’s Name McUnknown, hair ruffled and lipstick smudged, missing his corset, and looking very content. Rita hides her face behind her magazine and frantically hangs up on Franny. Juno trails after his beau. “Hey, handsome, don’t forget this.” He holds up the corset, and his visitor laughs.

“Juno, darling, if you keep stealing my breath every time I see you, I might have to quit wearing them altogether.” Juno’s got a line of hickeys blooming on his throat and jaw. He beckons his guest to him, and does the lacings for him.

“Hey,” he says, surprised. “is this fabric…dahlias?”

“Yes. Like it, darling?” There’s some electricity to the question that Rita knows she isn’t privy to. Mister Steel must have a thing about dahlias. She remembers someone sent them to him on his birthday one time. The pause is deafening, and she almost drops her magazine altogether when Mister Steel replies.

“ _Peter_ , you’re a sap,” in a tender voice she’s never heard him use before. She dares to look directly at them, only to find “Peter” pink to the tips of his ears.

Well.

Come to think of it, she might need to have a little conversation with Mister Steel about how pet names work, since he apparently thinks “sweetheart” is what you say in polite company, and “Peter” is to be saved for when you’re _en dishabille_.

Peter gives Juno a lingering kiss and collects his coat, walking backwards out the door. “I’ll see you at the conservatory. Promise me you’ll get a nap in this afternoon? Thank you, love. Bye.”

Rita lets Mister Steel lean dreamily against the doorway before she says “We-e-e-ell! Seems like you had a nice visit.”

Juno jumps. “Rita! How long have… Oh. You’ve been here the whole time. I. Sorry, Rita.”

She shrugs disingenuously. “Ohhh, think nothing of it, Mister Steel. But I _do_ think you coulda told me your gentleman caller’s name a little earlier! I thought I’d go crazy! All this time, I coulda been calling him Peter!”

Steel freezes. “Uh. Could you, maybe, be kinda. On a need-to-know-basis about his name?”

Her mouth falls open. “Oh! Mister Steel, it’s just like in _Endless Night of the Immortal Knight_!”

“What?”

“Oh I can’t believe you haven’t seen it! It’s a classic! Sir Palomides is in lurve, and everybody knows it, but he can’t say it’s with Sir Dinadan, because that’d cause all sorts of trouble, because there’s this inheritance and…oh, promise me you’ll just watch it, it’s perfect for a date night! Oh. Right. Of course I promise, boss! It’s just nice to know what to say when he comes in, you know?”

Juno, she thinks after he’s gone home, should own more clothes with open necks. Let his throat and collarbones show. It’s a good look on him, and Peter obviously thinks so too. She’ll add it to the moodboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just what on earth is Rita supposed to call a man who changes his name every story, hmmm?
> 
> Agent (Rex) Glass is Peter's name in Juno Steel and the Case of the Murderous Mask, so no wonder Rita thinks Juno has A Type.
> 
> Those fancy zinnias Just Might be descended from the first flower grown in space. https://www.nasa.gov/image-feature/first-flower-grown-in-space-stations-veggie-facility/
> 
> The dahlias are a reference to Dahlia Rose, the identity Juno assumes in Juno Steel and the Train from Nowhere.
> 
> Mr. DiMaggio is the Saffron Prince of Mars, from...Juno Steel and the Prince of Mars. We'll be seeing him again in chapter 4.
> 
> Sir Palomides and Sir Dinadan are not from Second Citadel, but actually a part of the King Arthur canon. They're not explicitly a couple, but In My Heart They Are. Also, Palomides (along with his brothers) is a black man from North Africa, who becomes a knight of the Round Table. Even the Middle Ages had diverse books. And Dinadan's just a delight. Gerald Morris' The Ballad of Sir Dinadan is an excellent version of their story, though sadly not gay.


	2. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is mostly sex!

_The nice thing about Hyperion City_ , Peter thinks, _is that it never turns off_. Need a bouquet of tiger lilies and fiddleheads, good-quality rooibos, lemon madeleines, silicone-based lube, an eggplant, a head of garlic, a bag of farfalle, a spool of green silk thread, a screwdriver for eyeglasses, two lightbulbs, and four drawer pulls at 3:00 am? (And _really_ , who _hasn’t_ been in that very situation?) Why, simply pop round the corner! Give the bodega cat chin scritches—not to be confused with scratches—pause at the newsstand for _The Times,_ and back up the fire escape with your purchases. How easy is that?

When Juno comes home, Peter hears him close the front door, and then comes a long moment in which he suspects Juno of suppressing the sound of his footsteps before the detective pushes open the bedroom door with his blaster ready. He almost drops it when he sees Peter sitting on the bed. Juno’s eyes go wide, lips parted on the start of a word. He swallows, pink tinting the high points of his cheeks.

“Hello, Juno.”

Peter looks amazing, and he knows it. He uncrosses his legs elegantly, parting the green robe. Just in case Juno couldn’t see the harness (leather), knickers (silk), stockings (cashmere), and boots (pvc) well enough.

But Juno? He looks _edible_. He’s wearing this soft-looking deep purple cropped turtleneck with a denim vest, nubby gray skirt, and mustard tights. The skirt has pockets. The tights have a rip in one knee and a trail of blood. His dreadlocks are flecked with gold glitter, and he’s wearing eyeliner, for maybe the second time Peter’s ever seen.

“Hey there, Peter,” Juno finally replies, like they’re in the grocery store.

Juno sets the blaster on the nightstand, which makes Peter realizes that his lover has been inching closer while he stared and thought about clothes. He reaches out and touches Juno’s waist, hand resting over the denim vest. Juno shivers. Peter runs his hand down, over Juno’s hip and thigh, settles in the crook of his scraped knee. “What happened here, love?”   

Juno laughs breathily. “I got a little too enthusiastic about converting the prison system to a rehabilitative model. In a mosh pit.” Peter smiles, catches Juno’s hand and kisses his fingertips.

“Soooo,” Juno says, his voice cracking in the way Peter loves so much, “what’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?” His free hand, the one Peter isn’t kissing, makes a strange and graceful motion. It reminds Peter of a bird trying to hop into flight.

Peter tilts his face up, so he can meet Juno’s eyes. “I’m making you dinner. And I have a mind to fuck your brains out, if you’d like.”

Juno’s dimples appear, which Peter knows means _yes_ , he’d like that very much. “It’s 4:30 in the morning, Nureyev.” As if either of them lived on a schedule anything like a normal person’s.

“Have you had dinner, Detective? No? Didn’t think so, given that you texted me earlier that you’d just woken up…at 7:00 pm. And I can feel the adrenaline in your body. God, your pulse is so fast right now! Do you have any idea what you do to me, Juno?”

Juno snorts, leans forward, and kisses the top of Peter’s head. “You’re cute.” Peter, surprising himself, sighs yearningly. He chases Juno’s mouth with his own. Juno hops onto the bed beside him, frames Peter’s face with his warm rough hands, and slides his tongue into Peter’s mouth.

He smells like peonies.

Peter loses track of time for a while. They’ve ended up lying on their sides at some point, feeling each other up, Frenching, and sighing. It’s all very sappy. Peter can’t get enough. He rocks his hips forward hungrily, and Juno pulls his face away with a gasp, and laughs warmly. He pats Peter’s ass. “Hey, uh, I guess I should’ve asked you this before I jumped on you.”

“Yes, darling?”

“How the fuck did you get in my apartment?”

Peter searches his face, realizes Juno’s serious. “I picked the lock, darling,” he drawls, wondering why that’d be a surprise. But Juno nods and smiles, and Peter realizes he just wanted to hear it confirmed. Nothing unexpected or insidious, just a normal amount of crime.

Juno rolls Peter onto his back and straddles him just above his knees. Peter stares at Juno’s eyes, his smudged smoky cateyes. He’s wearing the “fuck-you-and-your-shitty-opinions” glass eye tonight. It’s pure white. Makes people uncomfortable sometimes. His other eye is focused on Peter’s lips. Peter parts them obligingly, flicks his tongue across the fullest part. Juno trails his fingers across the twin gaps of bare skin between the tops of Peter’s stockings and the legs of his boyshorts. Peter starts and trembles, his thighs breaking into gooseflesh under Juno’s touch. Peter’s not sure he’s ever been this turned on in his life.

“Babe,” Juno says thoughtfully. Peter makes an affirmative sound. “Remember how you said you wanted to fuck my brains out?”

Peter chuckles, runs one hand down his own stomach and draws Juno’s eyes to his dick. Juno blushes and purrs, before continuing: “Well, how would you feel about _me_ fucking _your_ brains out?” His voice goes gravelly, and Peter’s brain breaks a smidgeon. Juno’s buzzing with mischief and energy. He’s been doing this _thing_ all night with his body, where he won’t let his biceps leave the front of Peter’s thoughts. And, well. Flexibility is Peter’s _best_ trait.

He catches Juno’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, ensures Juno’s staring at his hips. With his free hand, Peter slides the boyshorts off. Juno grins, and flicks his eyes in the direction of Peter’s face. “You’re so _pretty_ ” he tells Peter, in a voice so soft and gentle Peter vividly remembers the last job they worked together, Juno whispering to avoid startling an enclosure full of poison butterflies. 

Juno stands up on the bed in a sudden, graceless motion, stripping matter-of-factly. He looks down at Peter, who stretches happily. “Mind taking your boots off for me?”

“Juno, _please_ ,” Peter scoffs. “This is my outfit.” Juno pulls his head free of the turtleneck, knocking gold glitter from his hair onto his shoulders and collarbone.

Peter takes his boots off without another word.

When Juno’s down to a wine-colored lace bralette, he slides his forefinger and middle finger into his mouth, sucks absently, and casts his gaze towards his nightstand. His forehead creases. He’s out, and he knows it. Or he _was_ out. Peter grabs his fallen robe and fishes in the pocket, waggles the bottle at Juno. Steel’s fingers slip out of his mouth with a _pop_. He laughs and kneels between Peter’s legs.

Then Juno’s warm lips on Peter’s hipbones. His long, knobbly fingers. His voice stuttering with the rhythm of his hips. His eyes closing. His hand sweeping tenderly through Peter’s hair.

“Juno,” someone says. Peter figures it’s probably himself. Maybe he should check, but lying sweetly dazed is pretty great. He rolls onto his side after a moment, says it again. “Juno, Juno, _Juno_.”

Juno’s arms around him. “That’s me.” They smile at each other, and Juno shifts their bodies so Peter’s cheek is resting on Juno’s chest.

“I love you,” Peter says. Juno kisses Peter’s forehead and rubs his lower back.

Peter cooks, eventually, after they’ve both showered. Juno keeps coming into the kitchen with observations. “Did you bring me flowers?”

“Naturally, Detective!”

“You replaced my lightbulbs.”

“They were out.”

“I have new drawer pulls on the blue cabinet?”

“You were using bungee cords, _honestly_ , sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

“…What for?”

“Taking care of me.”

“Well. I mean. You’re so very. I want to.”  

Juno catches Peter’s jaw, turns his face towards his own. “Say it again?”

“Which part?” Peter knows which part. He knows that Juno knows he does, too. “Taste this. Enough garlic?” Juno’s mouth closes around the spoon. “I love you.”

And Juno slides the spoon out with his pleased-cat smile. “Perfect.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rooibos is the best tea, it's a fact.
> 
> What Peter cooks for dinner:
> 
> Ingredients:  
> 1 medium or large eggplant  
> Tomato sauce  
> Olive oil  
> 1 head garlic  
> Handful of black olives (optional)  
> Red bell pepper (optional)  
> Salt  
> Black pepper  
> 1 package of pasta (shapes suggested over long noodles) 
> 
> Dice eggplant, garlic, and, if using, olives and bell pepper. Cover bottom of large saucepan with olive oil, and bring to medium heat. Add cut vegetables, salt, and black pepper. Simmer until browning begins on eggplant, then cover with tomato sauce. If making tomato sauce from scratch, a marinara or other sauce with basil is suggested. Cook until eggplant is soft, stirring occasionally. Serve over cooked pasta.


	3. 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: In this one, they're working a case, and things get a bit tense. If you'd like to skip the section with the fighting, I'd suggest stopping at "Juno leaves his table and makes for the balcony," and resuming at "They all end up in Vicky’s private lounge."

“Ok, folks, we got 30 minutes ‘til showtime! Hallway A: get your clothes _on_ ; hallway B, get your clothes _off_. Usual standards of tastefulness apply, sugarplums, we do _not_ need a repeat of Put a Pillow on Your Fridge Day! Steel! Status report!”

Juno fidgets with his ear cuff comm. “No sign of our guy yet, Vicky. There’s a bit of a soap opera going on at the table next to me. If they don’t quiet down, I’ll have to change vantage points.”

“On it, Steel! Cunegonde, baby, I need a polite lullaby at table 12—or possibly 14. I shoulda asked, goddammit. Whatever. And remember. Polite. No kerfuffles tonight. The wife cannot know about this!”

A tall bouncer with a fluffy pink mohawk and a velvet tailcoat appears at Juno’s elbow. At table 14, a patron wearing a mother-of-pearl hockey mask, fuchsia Nehru collar dress shirt, and “R U NASTY?” booty shorts is drinking a Harvey Wallbanger through a curly straw. Their right arm is draped around a long-legged man wearing gray lipstick and a rhinestoned yarmulke, while their left hand is linked with the hand of a redhead in floral cargo shorts and a flannel buttondown with the sleeves cut off. Gray lipstick is laying out a tarot spread about hockey mask’s social life, interpreting it for the other two in a different silly fake accent with each card. Hockey mask is arguing with him, loudly, trying to convince him that they are less of a human disaster than the cards suggest. The redhead is eating a matcha white chocolate lava cake, flashing a sweet smile at intervals, but otherwise ignoring the other two.   

While Juno scans the newest arrivals for their mark, the bouncer softly shushes the trio, and Juno relaxes. The room is nearly full now, which he…sure has some feelings about. It’s not what he’d call _ideal_ for trying to identify and intercept the asshole who’s been sending death threats to Arbor Daye, Hyperion City’s premier Earth kitsch drag king. On the other hand, it’s always nice when your friends have a big audience.

By the time the stage lights go on, he’s narrowed the crowd down to four suspects. He signals a waiter, who leans over Juno’s menu, feigns a discussion over the stuffing in jalapeno poppers, and marks on his datapad the patrons Juno names. The entire staff of Vixen Valley has been forwarded the list within half a minute.

And then the curtain rises.

The first act is someone called Flannel O’Connor doing a medley of Plutonian gothic showtunes in a peacock gown and tuxedo jacket. During the song, Juno rules out one of his suspects, a pale woman in a gold lamé beekeeper’s suit. She’s got tiny enough feet to match the muddy bootprints left in the Valley’s dressing rooms, but since she’s now holding up a cross-stitched sign depicting Flannel’s face surrounded by hearts, he reckons she doesn’t have intentions for anyone else, good or ill.

Another suspect spills a cocktail on their rainbow cat sweater soon after, and makes for the restroom. The pink-haired bouncer casually follows, giving Juno a nod. The final two suspects, to Juno’s surprise, end up sitting together. One’s wearing a bathing cap and feather cloak, the other’s in a dandelion-print shirtdress and foot-tall tiara. They seem to be flirting. So—either the cat sweater babe is their aspiring murderer, or Juno’s team is looking for a multitasker.     

His comm crackles, and the intrepid bouncer’s voice comes through: “Hey, this is Cunegonde reporting from the north restroom. Mr. Steel, do you copy?”

“I hear you.”

“Our friend is on the move. They left the floor in one stall covered with—glitter? I think they dropped a container going through their pockets. Could be nothing, could be gearing up.”

“Got it. Thank you, Cunegonde.” He flicks his ear to change the setting. “All channels, do we have a visual on VIP cat?”

There’s a long pause, in which Juno only hears Whitney Houston and applause, and then a gasp over the comm. “Ooooh! Mistah Steel! They’re on the balcony at about 7 o’clock, and they’ve changed their eyeshadow to just the CUTEST shade of tangerine, oh boy I hope they’re not Miss Daye’s stalker, I really wanna know where they shop! Oh! Oh! Boss, here comes the headliner oh my god oh my god I hope they wait for a different song to move, I don’t want the show to be over so soon…”

And there, striding to center stage, is Mr. Arbor Daye. In daily life, Ms. Kait Daye, mechanic. He’s holding hands with “my very dear daughter, Miss Halcyon Daye!” Halcyon doesn’t have a name in his daily life, because he doesn’t _have_ a daily life. Vicky’s made his check out to Imhotep Pei, since he’s got a bank account in that name. Juno calls him Peter.

Peter’s moving carefully, standing close to Kait. This—his presence on stage—was his idea, not Juno’s. He’s trying to keep Kait safe by sticking to her side. He can see everything she can, he’s armed, and he’s got all the information Juno does. He and Kait are both wearing bulletproof long johns under their clothes, but Juno’s terrified anyway.

So, he’d have been staring no matter what Peter wore, but Peter looks...noteworthy. The jewelry and parasol are his own, and they look lovely, but. _But_. He’s wearing a floor-length blush pink gown with a gold brocade bolero, and has draped a cream-colored pashmina around his throat and head. Those all came from Juno’s closet. Juno is breathless, unsure what he’s feeling. Peter’s eyes pass over Juno without pausing, but his jade green lips curve into a private smile.

Someone behind Juno drops and breaks a glass, and he realizes with a start how long he’s been staring at the one person he doesn’t _need_ to worry about. He looks at Kait, and she’s fine, blowing a kiss at a girl in the front row who’s waving a 20 at her. He looks at the flirting suspects, and they’re watching the show as cheerfully as everyone else. The person in the cat sweater, on the balcony, has their hands in their pockets. “Folks,” Juno says softly, “watch the cat’s hands.” In response, Peter opens his parasol and twirls it on his shoulder, winking at Kait, neither of them breaking character. Juno leaves his table and makes for the balcony. Cat sweater pulls a blaster, Rita hits them in the face with her purse, Cunegonde puts them in a headlock, cat sweater drops the blaster, Juno grabs it.

And then a shot rings out across the floor below.

Juno twists in a 180, in time to see Nureyev pulling Kait into a safe, limb-tucked-in crouch behind his giant parasol. “WHO’S SHOOTING??” Juno yells, but everyone’s yelling. He desperately looks at the table where the feather-cloak and dandelion dress suspects were flirting. They’re both on their feet, blasters in their hands. Juno aims, hits the guy in the dandelion dress with a stun dart, sees the other fall a beat after. Nureyev’s blaster is smoking, is it over?

Is it over?

Inhale exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Kait stands slowly, Peter grabbing at her arm to pull her back. Someone howls in pain, and goddammit, the woman in the gold lamé beekeeper’s suit is aiming her blaster at Kait, but she’s also grabbed a hostage. It’s the quiet man from the noisy table, the one in the floral cargo shorts. She tries to shoot Kait, but Nureyev’s pulled his charge to safety again, and her bullet bounces off his (reinforced? Oh, _obviously_ ) parasol. The beekeeper shoots the ceiling instead, and Juno’s _still_ trying to get to the ground floor, Rita and Cunegonde on his heels. He can’t get a clear shot, he’d hit the hostage, and there’s a sea of people running up the stairs to get to the second-floor exit onto Moon Street, so he’s fighting their flow. Beekeeper’s screaming something, telling them not to try anything or she’ll shoot, and the hostage’s boyfriend in the gray lipstick collapses, hyperventilating. The beekeeper shoots the ceiling again, yells for everyone to freeze.

Fuck.

The room falls into painful stillness. The beekeeper is still staring at the stage, slowly backing toward the elevator doors. Rita is crying behind Juno’s shoulder. _Think._ Think think think.

“Hey, asshole!” Juno yells. The beekeeper turns and focuses on him. Juno’s pretty sure his heart stops. “The floor’s wet behind you. For hell’s sake don’t slip with your finger on that trigger.” When she looks, it’s enough. Juno still doesn’t have a clear shot, nor does Peter, Cunegonde, or anyone else here to protect people. But the hostage’s datefriend with the heavy jeweled hockey mask pulls it off their face and _throws_ it. It clocks the beekeeper in the head, she staggers, and Nureyev lands a shot in her leg. She drops the hostage, who dives away from her, and Juno gets another shot in her neck. She falls.

~***~

They all end up in Vicky’s private lounge, waiting for the HCPD. Most of the patrons are gone. Vicky couldn’t bear to ask them to stay to give statements, merely offered first aid and free drinks. Few accepted. The signs have been switched to CLOSED. The shooters have been tied up and locked in the drink cellar.

“How are you doing?” Juno asks Kait. She’s peeled off most of her layers above the waist, and keeps trying to stop her hands from shaking.

“I’m alive,” she chokes out. “That’s gotta count for somethin’.” She frowns at her hands. “Fuck. I’m such a baby. Actin’ like this was all about me. I’m sorry, Juno. I’m so sorry. You tried to talk me into setting a trap somewhere without a crowd, and I didn’t take you seriously. I didn’t take _any_ of it seriously. Which was the whole problem, as it turns out.” Her head falls into her hands, and the dam breaks. “Did Cunegonde tell ya? That first shooter—they got chatty while she was tying them up. It was cause of Felix—you know ‘em as Flannel, over there. I know I’m a headliner an’ all, but Fee really touches people. Do a lotta charity shows and stuff, really speak to people on an emotional level. I’m just a bundle of confidence and sex appeal.” She takes a long drink. “They told me they loved me a couple months ago, after a show. I thought it was a joke—or, y’know, not like _that_.” She grimaces. “They cried. We, uh, we didn’t know our mics were still on. Lotta Flannel’s fans were pissed, and damn well they might be. Guess some were really very pissed. Felix said some nice stuff about me on their feed afterwards, y’know, and these people tied up in the basement,” she snorts self-deprecatingly. “They knew I didn’t deserve it, so. I’m so mad, Juno, I’m mad as hell. They hurt people. But if someone else made Felix cry, I know _I’d_ go beat ‘em up. Shit. Do you know the worst bit? I do love them back after all. They’ll never believe me. Fuck.”

Juno squeezes her hand. “Kait, look up.” She looks at Juno, and he gently tilts her face toward Flannel, who has been standing to the side for several minutes.

“Kait, silly, if I can believe Vicky’s missus really liked my guacamole, I can believe you’re bad at flirting.” They smile, and Juno understands why someone might kill for them. Felix wraps their arms around Kait, and Juno leaves them.

The throuple who had been so close to tragedy earlier in the night are now cuddling on a sectional couch. A Vixen whose name Juno doesn’t remember has a diagnostic cuff around the redhead’s arm. He’s got his boyfriend’s head in his lap, and their datefriend is leaning their head on his shoulder. “Hello,” the redhead says, smiling. “You’re Juno Steel, aren’t you? The detective who saved Arbor Daye. I’m Max, this is my datefriend Roan, and our boyfriend Avishai.” Everyone, Juno included, smiles and nods politely. “Oh! And maybe you don’t know Ms. Bambi, here,” Max adds, gesturing at the woman with the first aid kit. “She’s in her last year of medical school, isn’t that wonderful?” Bambi laughs. “Hey, Steel.”

“Hiya, Bambi.” Juno clears his throat awkwardly. “Listen, uh, I’m really sorry you three got caught up in this.”

Roan shrugs. “Wouldn’t mind if the people who did this apologized, but I don’t think any of us blame you.” They duck their head self-consciously. The mask, Juno realizes, was an effort to cover a large birthmark on roughly half their face. He can relate. Roan looks up again. “I know there’s more to it than this, but I really think she would’ve shot Max if she’d slipped on the mess from that ice bucket. Thank you for preventing that. If he’d died… Thank you.” Avishai sits up off Max’s lap and kisses Juno on each cheek.

“If there’s anything we can do for you,” he says, “we will consider it our privilege.”

Juno’s uncomfortable and guilty. “Nah. Nah, I don’t think that I’d’ve gotten an opening if Roan hadn’t thrown their mask. I’m not a hero here.” The three seem about to argue, but Bambi squeaks.

“Uh…huh. I was not expecting that.”

Max leans closer to her. “What is it?” Bambi leans up and whispers in his ear, and he looks startled and delighted. “Really? Are you sure?”

She shrugs. “’S what the cuff says. So pretty likely.”

Max punches the air. “Roan! Avi! I’m pregnant!”

Juno leaves them to their flurry of hugging and laughing, finds Rita on Cunegonde’s lap. “You two okay?”

Rita grabs Juno’s hand. “Oh, Mistah Steel, that was just the _best_ show, it’s _such_ a shame we couldn’t see the whole thing, we gotta come back sometime. Cunegonde here says every show is that good, I can’t believe it! I remember the entertainment last time we worked a case for Ms. Vicky, I wouldn’t have thought anything could match it!” She sighs. “OH! And look, Cunegonde’s been showing me her tattoos, isn’t she _magnificent_?” Cunegonde obligingly shows Juno the estradiol molecule tattooed on her forearm. Juno makes the appropriate admiring noises, but senses the two would rather be alone.

“Steel,” Vicky moans, grabbing his sleeve. “The wife is gonna know about this, isn’t she?”

He thinks. “Does she watch the 11 o’clock news?”

“Religiously,” she says, with a gasp of hope. As though he’s about to say the news will shield her from…news.

“…Then yeah, I think she’ll know.”

Vicky drops into a chair. “Chad! Get me a highball!” She sighs. “Least it isn’t a murder, I guess. Look, the cops finally got here. Listen, kid, you talk to them quickly and then go home. Ya done good.”   

~***~

Peter, of course, did not wait around to talk to police officers. He’s in the Ruby 7, out in the Valley parking deck, removing his makeup. Juno practically falls into the passenger seat. “Ready for home, Detective?”

Juno laughs, exhausted. “Yes. No. I want to talk, and if you drive, I’ll fall asleep.” He cradles Peter’s face in his hand. He’s still in one piece. Somehow. “Why are you wearing my clothes?”

Peter blinks. This isn’t what he expected. “Well. I asked Kait what I should wear, and she said I should think of the most glamorous lady I know, and go with that.” Juno blushes. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you first, shouldn’t I?” Juno shrugs with one shoulder. Peter knows he’s on uneven ground, but isn’t sure why. “I’d love to see you in this dress sometime, you know. I’m sure it’s gorgeous on you. I love how the lining feels, by the way. It’s luxurious even by my standards. Almost like a wedding dress.”

Hammer, meet nail.

Juno thinks for a dizzying moment he’s going to start bawling in Peter’s car, but he inhales deeply, and just like that, an ache in his chest melts away.

“Peter,” he whispers, “you are the best, the best thing I’ve ever known, and you can wear anything you like.” He thinks. “Not my jackets though, if I had a dollar for every time you’ve wriggled out of a jacket in a narrow escape, I could buy a new datapad.”

Peter chuckles and starts the engine. “Did you like it, then?” He sounds more nervous than Juno’s ever heard him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You make me feel like the luckiest lady on Mars.”

Peter grins. “Oh, you just might be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ me: Oooooh boi how many OCs are in this chapter?
> 
> Put a Pillow on Your Fridge Day is a real holiday. It's supposedly a thing for luck?
> 
> Valles Vicky and the Vixen Valley first appeared in Juno Steel and the Midnight Fox.
> 
> I love drag, and I love the drag performers I've done backstage work for. It can be an odd tightrope as a genderqueer person--I never know who Gets It and who just thinks it's funny. In Hyperion City, everyone's perfectly lovely about gender play. Because I say so. 
> 
> Arbor Daye's name is a pun on the holiday. Flannel O'Connor's name is a pun on the gayest fabric, and the Southern Gothic author Flannery O'Connor.
> 
> Whitney Houston is still going to be fun to lipsynch to after we've colonized Mars, don't @ me.
> 
> Imhotep Pei--two pyramid architects.
> 
> Peter got the Ruby 7 back, because Fun. 
> 
> Yeah, of all the clothes in Juno's closet, Peter managed to pull out the wedding dress.


	4. 4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: sex, or you might consider it foreplay. And a heist! 
> 
> If you'd like to skip the sexy bit, stop at "You might wanna ditch the keys," resume at "They’re forgiven," and stop at "when I took them down."

Juno wears the dress. It still feels like heaven on him. He took down a daffodil-colored shawl in case it turns cold, slipped on a pair of dainty strappy sandals, and strapped his emergency kit to his thigh. That feels, now that he’s reached the glittering courtyard of Saffron Manse, like a Nureyev move. Appropriate.

“Juno Steel, Private Eye!”

“Hi, Julian.”

The Saffron Prince of Mars is wearing a midnight blue satin brocade hostess set and carrying a stick of pocky. He puts it to his mouth like he forgot it wasn’t a cigarette. “Juno, my dear, it’s so good of you to come to our little soiree!” He waves his new fiancé over, beaming with pride. The future Mr. Iskander DiMaggio-Miller is a petite golden-eyed man in his early 30s. He loops one arm around Julian’s waist, smiles warmly at Juno, and signs a polite greeting. “Dear heart,” DiMaggio gushes, “ _this_ is Juno Steel!”

“Oh really?” Iskander winks. “Then you’re the cleverest in the room _and_ the best-dressed. That’s such a beautiful material. You look like a rose.”

Juno’s startled into laughter he can’t possibly explain to his hosts. A rose, or a Rose? “Thanks. I think it’s pretty great too. It’s got pockets.” Which is, technically, true. He has complicated feelings about his memories of it, but he _loves_ this dress. They briefly make small talk about…something. Julian, when he’s in a social mood, peppers his conversation with so many insinuating winks and half-sentences Juno usually realizes a week or more later that it was a conversation about black pepper chicken the whole time, and not counterfeit perfume.

The food’s genuinely good, and not merely expensive. Most of the guests are wealthy, and not particularly good. Juno heads for the mini crab cakes and scans the room discreetly. Vicky, of all people, is here. She and her wife are wearing smart suits and matching boutonnieres, but they’re already tipsy. They spot him after a moment, and run over. Gana, Vicky’s wife, hugs Juno tightly and whispers in his ear: “Hello, sugar. Causing trouble?”

He grins at her. “You know it.” Shit, Nureyev has rubbed off on him more than he realized. He’ll find a way to cope. Vicky pulls out her comm and shows Juno photos of Bambi’s graduation ceremony, her and Gana’s twins with a birthday cake, and the family’s Atlantean Borzoi puppy. It’s delightful, but Juno won’t lie to himself: when he catches a glimpse of someone Peter’s shape over Vicky’s shoulder, a part of his brain settles down and his heart speeds up. He forces his attention to stay on Vicky and Gana, which fortunately allows him to be surprised when a hand taps his shoulder.

Iskander smiles, wiggles his eyebrows at Juno, and signs, “Would you ladies mind if I cut in? There’s a gentleman who can’t take his eyes off Juno, and I’d love to introduce them.” Gana giggles and Vicky smirks, and they both shoo Juno off to “have fuuuuuuun!”

There’s a moment, while Juno allows Iskander to lead him to the fountain, when he thinks the man isn’t Peter. He’s using body language Juno hasn’t seen him wear before, a ramrod-straight back and hands clasped behind him. Iskander hums low in his throat to catch the man’s attention, and when he turns, Juno feels his jaw drop. Nureyev wore contacts, turning his warm brown eyes pale blue. Hair slicked back, and piercings left at home. He’s worn an _exquisite_ dove gray tuxedo, pale pink lipstick with tidily winged eyeliner, and several rings. All very lovely, but very unlike Peter. Juno misses his brown eyes. “Sir,” Iskander signs in Peter’s direction, “I present Detective Juno Steel. Juno, this is Colonel Professor Hidalgo Hercule Ivy.”

Juno stares at Nureyev and slowly raises one eyebrow. His thief flutters his eyelashes and bows low. “ _Enchanté_ , Detective. And may I say, I’m very taken by your charming earrings.”

Peter _gave_ Juno these earrings, little pearly calla lilies. The man likes flowers more than he does most people. Both of them do, really. “Thanks,” Juno says, “the guy who gave them to me turned out to be really full of himself.” He smiles warmly.

Peter’s eyes sparkle. “I shiver to think what you did when you last saw him.”

“Nothing I can say in polite company, Mr. Ivy.”

Iskander’s eyes are sliding back and forth between them, with a twist in his mouth that suggests he’s solving a puzzle. He lifts his hands to say something, but Julian calls out to him, so he shrugs and simply signs, “I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Juno’s more than a little alarmed by the calculating backwards glance he gives them.

“Do you think he knows something?”

Peter snorts. “I think he suspects me of being a charming fraud with designs on your virtue.”

“Haven’t got any!” Juno pauses to allow a cup noodle heiress to glide out of earshot. “Is this a new… _look_? Do you take critiques?”

Before responding, Nureyev nods his head at a shaded bench in a corner, and leads him there. “Juno,” he whispers, mock affronted, “what _ever_ could your objection possibly be?”

“Two titles? Couldn’t have a little restraint?”

“Three, darling. Captain Professor Hidalgo, given name Hercule, family name Ivy.”

“Shit. You really drank your Be Extra juice this morning.” For a moment, he thinks Peter’s about to kiss him, but Nureyev simply smiles. Juno clears his throat. “So. How’d your intel collection go?”

Peter, as Hercule, crosses his legs at the ankle and rests his hand a polite distance from Juno’s on the seat of the bench. “Natalia Conan, 41, is an accomplished courier for the illicit auction house Agatha’s. She’s…over there talking to our hosts. Hmmm.”

Juno can’t get a good sense of her appearance from a back view lit only by string lights, but he can see that Julian is scowling, arms folded, and Iskander is looking at the floor. “That looks concerning.”

“I’m not sure whether she’s like this all the time, but at least tonight she’s the ringleader of a few people who are bitterly insinuating our Mr. Miller only wants the Saffron Prince for his money.”

“Idiots.”

“…That was very forceful.”

“Rita and I did some fact-checking for him, when they were writing the prenup. It’s actually love, as far as I can tell.”

Peter whistles. “You investigated Iskander Miller? Did you get into those tabloid rumors about him being the lost heir of Midas?”

“Hmm? Oh. No, I investigated Julian, _for_ Iskander.”

“Detective! Playing both sides, are we?”

“I did warn him I’d worked for Julian. And the Prince knew he’d hired a detective, and asked not to know who. Still doesn’t know, but I don’t think he’d mind that I took the job. Owes me too much. Whatever. Are we robbing Natalia, or has she handed it off?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Do I _ever_ like your jobs?” They both consider. “Ok, yeah, they have perks,” he concedes, right as Peter says “no, and that’s fair, they’re all a bit….” They both pause, catch their breath, and smile at each other. Peter’s slides off his face.

“It’s. Well. Natalia’s staying here for the weekend, and asked Julian for help securing her valuables. She stashed the petri dishes in a jewelry case and he innocently stuck it in the master bedroom safe.”

Juno remembers the glass in his hand abruptly and downs its contents. “That isn’t ideal. Ok. Are we good to go, or do we need to wait for an opening?”

“I won’t mind if you want to sit it out.”

“Why would I do that? Do I hate biological warfare more than I like the DiMaggio-Millers? Hm, let me think: yes.”

“If we get caught, I’ll be fine, but you…” Juno stares him down, unimpressed. “Ha. Ok. You’ll make it work. Let’s go.”

The security in Saffron Manse isn’t what Juno would call extensive. It’s a home, not a bank. They figure if a guest is welcome in, then all you really need to secure is privacy. Unlike the Kanagawas, the DiMaggios _like_ privacy, to the point of no security cameras. That doesn’t mean there aren’t three locks on the master bedroom door, though. Juno’s poised to stand guard while Nureyev picks them, but instead Peter produces a ring of brass keys and clicks them all open. They automatically lock when the door swings shut behind them. Juno turns on a light.

It’s more tasteful than he expected, in all honesty. There’s a disco ball, but only a small one.

Nureyev pulls a painting of a flamingo off the wall in front of the safe and rolls up his sleeves. He’s still moving like Hercule Ivy, Juno notices. While he works, Juno rifles through the nightstands. “Juno, what are you looking for?”

“Some of the party guests are openly accusing Iskander of social climbing. Why is Julian putting up with it? I’d’ve thought he’d shut them up, maybe even kick them out. For that matter, why are old-money snobs even here? Before Julian Monroe met Tony DiMaggio, he was a barista slash struggling model. They called him a gold digger, which wasn’t true. He’s shallow, but he’s a romantic. So I don’t get why he can’t defend his fiancé. You saw how much he wanted to.”

“It’s not in the safe.”

Juno looks up so quickly his neck pops. “What.”

“No no no. Stay calm. If _I_ were fabulously wealthy, I’d have more than one good hiding place.” He restores the safe and painting to their original positions, strides to the center of the room, and slowly turns in a circle.

He’s so handsome Juno could cry.

Instead, he helps. “Bookcases. Julian’s not a reader. He’s engaged to a Martian Lit PhD student, but that leftmost shelf is dusty.”

“Yes, I see. Ah. _On the Virtues of the Quality_ doesn’t sound like either of them, but it’s been removed recently…here. This is Conan’s case. Juno, you are the goddess of wisdom.” Peter kisses him swiftly on the mouth, and sits cross-legged on the bed to beat the jewelry case’s lock.

“Interesting that he hid it there. I wonder if he was more motivated by giving Natalia’s stuff a less obvious spot, or a less secure one.” Juno crawls across the bed behind Nureyev’s back, and opens the drawers of the other nightstand. Receipts, ticket stubs, magazines. Juno’s skin feels electric. That kiss was the first time Peter has touched him all night. He’s got it bad, huh.

They hit success at the same time. Nureyev snatches the virus cultures out of the case, and Juno waves a folder in his face. “Conan is blackmailing them, look! Miller’s birth parents.”

“The…Rossignols?”

“Look. He was an arms inventor, she was in surveillance…got into government at some point. They got life sentences for war crimes. Two small children, both adopted. One became Iskander Miller. Must’ve been pretty awful since he’s buried his parentage so carefully.”

He looks up and Peter is pale. “Juno, they made the Guardian Angel System. On Brahma.” Juno holds his hand.

“Oh shit.” He’s reached a letter at the end of the dossier. “This isn’t from Conan. It’s her buyer. Charity Kanagawa will expose Iskander unless Julian facilitates her exchange with the courier.”

“Juno, we can’t let her. When I put them away, there were people who swore to murder the Rossignol children. He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

Someone tries to open the door. They freeze. Low voices, footsteps retreating. Nureyev silently treads to the door and looks through the keyhole. “There’s someone on the landing. I don’t think they can hear us, but they’ll see us if we leave through the door. How comfortable are you with climbing?”

“Climbing?”

“Through the window.”

“This is the 4th floor!”

“Is that a ‘no,’ then?”

Juno inhales slowly and pulls his emergency kit off his thigh. The virus samples go into the tin, cushioned by the piece of gauze he keeps in there. He’s going to sacrifice his mini camera rather than risk it being found in his open dress pockets, but Nureyev gently takes it from his hand and vanishes it into a pocket of his own. Juno clasps one of Peter’s hands. “Babe,” he says, “we didn’t know whose room this was. The door was open, and we were looking for someplace to have sex. You might wanna ditch the keys.”

“That…oh. That could work.” Nureyev seems a little dazed. Juno kicks his shoes off and slides one strap off his shoulder. He looks directly at Peter and pulls it down a little more, until his nipple shows. Peter laughs and kneels, still carrying himself with angular precision, and kisses the tips of Juno’s fingers. He smiles, sharp teeth and deep dimples, and says: “Juno, darling, I’ve been thinking all night about getting you home and sucking you off. Would that be—”

“ _Hell_ yes, Peter. Wait. Mess your clothes up more.” Juno climbs onto the bed and tries to arrange himself in a position that suggests he’s had no time to do anything suspicious, on account of sex, he swears, on my life, your honor.

Peter throws his coat and tie off, and unbuttons his vest and shirt. “Convincing?” Juno leans forward and messes up his perfect hair. Peter straight-up _giggles_.

“I love you,” Juno tells him. Peter kisses his inner thigh.

“I’m not actually going to go down on you, I think.” Juno makes a disappointed noise before he can stop himself. “We know we’re just going to get interrupted. What I _really_ want is to kneel here and make you feel good.” He punctuates this with a loving bite. Juno melts.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Peter says, his hands skimming over Juno’s thighs. “I meant it when I called you a goddess. Do you know what your eye color is?”

“Gray.”

“Mm, more specific. It’s like a foggy morning, viewed through glass. I get to stay in the warmth, and think _how lovely_ , and wrap my arms around myself.” He licks a sensitive patch of scar tissue above Juno’s knee. “You’ve got stars for freckles, my dear. Sometimes, when I look at you, I find myself charting a course by them. There’s a cluster on your jaw that looks like Polaris is guiding me to your lips.”

Juno realizes he’s going to die, Peter’s going to make his heart burst. While they’re burgling the wealthiest couple on Mars. He can live with that.

“And do you know what your scars look like? Somewhere you got it in your head that they’re ugly, but have you ever seen a birch tree? That’s what I see. Your skin is spun of magic, and I want to know every inch of it. Your mouth? Heaven. Silk. You have the most beautiful throat I’ve ever seen, you sweet thing. Collarbones, too. Darling, you’re trembling all over.”

“Don’t stop,” Juno gasps, “please.”

Peter’s leaving gentle bite marks on Juno’s thigh when the door opens. For a moment, Juno thinks his scheme worked _too_ well; he can’t seem to get enough breath to sit upright, let alone speak. Nureyev plays confused and lust-smitten and oh, so _frightfully_ sorry, _what_ they must think of them, but no, he’s quite certain the door was open. “Else, we’d’ve found another spot, you know! Hope I didn’t cause too much bother. Mr. Steel is just so very…” and Peter _kisses his fingers_. Like a stream chef! Juno bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, which fortunately manages to make him look even messier.

They’re forgiven, as he expected. The soon to be DiMaggio-Millers trust Juno’s word, smile and laugh and make jokes about his good luck. He knows it won’t work a second time, but—this couple is _nice_. He doesn’t have a long list of _nice_ people. So. There won’t be a second time.

Juno takes himself home. Nureyev plants the keyring he stole from Julian’s pocket on Natalia Conan. By the time he circles back to Juno’s apartment, the HCPD are taking Conan into custody. “I think Iskander’s safe for the moment, but I’m going to find and burn Charity Kanagawa’s copy of the blackmail material. The Rossignols killed enough people without revenge cults preying on innocents. Poor thing wasn’t even in his teens when I took them down.”

He flops onto his side of the bed. Juno rubs his back. “Juno, my dove?”

“Peter?”

“Are you wearing anything under those sheets?”

“ _Some_ body got me all worked up.” He kisses Peter’s jaw.

“Mmmm.” Nureyev rolls over to kiss him back. “Where did I leave off?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE DRESS.
> 
> Oh look, there's Julian again. Looks like he and that guy he was seeing got engaged!
> 
> Iskander because I like the name, Miller because Marylin Monroe married Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller. He's mute. I have him "signing" his remarks to illustrate that. In Hyperion City, everyone knows sign language. Because I say so. 
> 
> Vicky's back too! And her wife also got a name I just happened to like. Bambi is the med student OC from chapter 3.
> 
> Colonel Professor Hidalgo Hercule Ivy: Oh, Peter, you're such a show-off. Hercule because of Hercule Poirot, Ivy because it's another good plant name. And the titles are me putting useless knowledge to use: military titles come before academic titles, and both come before noble titles.
> 
> Natalia Conan's name doesn't come from anything. Her employer, Agatha's, is a pun on the auction house Christie's.
> 
> Charity is an OC addition to the Kanagawas, first met in Juno Steel and the Case of the Murderous Mask.
> 
> The Rossignols are a heavily embroidered version of a character mentioned in Peter Nureyev and the Angel of Brahma, in which the GAS is mentioned. 
> 
> Give Juno more praise kink 2k18.


	5. 5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: an actiony chapter, but not half as tense as chapter 3, imho. Brief discussion of an injury.

Rita paces the office with her fingers steepled at waist-height. “Mister Steel, Doctor Teeth, I am forced to report extremely _disturbing_ findings about Charity Kanagawa’s data storage.” Both lean forward. “Ms. Kanagawa, like much of her family, is obsessed with control of her every asset. Unlike those relatives we have dealt with before, she has taken the security of her blackmail collection to extreme lengths.” Rita stares soulfully out the window. “In fact, I would go so far as to say she’s…” Rita closes the blinds with a _snap_ and turns back to her audience. “She’s unhackable.”

 “So,” Juno interrupts, “she’s got—what? A fancy server?”

“Mister Steel, Ms. Kanagawa uses a technology no amount of hacking will ever break. Even the best hacker in the _galaxy_ can’t get it.” She shines a flashlight on her face. “Paper.”

Doctor Peter Teeth bursts into applause. Detective Juno Steel looks unmoved. The latter props his chin up with a fist. “So we’re going to have to break in. Again.” He sighs. “I hope your catsuit’s snowproof, Nur—you nerd.”

Rita puts her hands on her hips triumphantly. “Actuallyyyyy, I had something else in mind.” She rolls out the sheet of paper she’s been at all morning with a pencil and straightedge. “This is Charity Kanagawa’s compound. _Here_ ,”—she points at a building set apart from the main house—“is the blackmail vault.”

“It’s a _vault_?” Steel returns. “How tough are we talking?”

“Weeeeell, I _might_ have taken Charity’s groundskeeper to get drinks on Saturday, and they _might_ have told me it’s a plain brick shed. Major lock on it, an’ a _bunch_ of biometric scans, _and_ a spike trap _and_ a laser grid _and_ a liquid nitrogen sprinkler _and_ ceiling fans with hydraulic dart guns on ‘em. And that’s only the stuff Ebon saw when they hit a window with their rake one time.”

Doctor Teeth is taking notes and stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’m picturing a wind-up toy army to take the heat until everything with ammunition runs out…”

“Orrrrr we could find out what all the other marks Rita made on the map mean.”

Rita beams. It’s so nice Mister Steel doesn’t play favorites, just because Doctor Teeth knows how he likes his morning coffee, if ya know what I mean. “Ok, so here’s what I’m thinking. One word: Arson.”

~***~

Rita drives. Mister Steel drives like an anxious 16-year-old, and his gentleman caller drives like a professional daredevil. Rita is a genuinely good driver. She’s got her boss in the passenger seat, bundled up in a non-descript coat, with a thick scarf and beanie covering most of his face. Peter is in the backseat with an oxblood leather greatcoat and a pure white ushanka. When they’d picked him up from the hardware store, he’d had pink cheeks and snowflakes in his eyelashes. Juno saw him and blushed _so_ hard, Rita has never _seen_ him so flustered.

She drops Mister Steel off two blocks away with a messenger bag full of tools. She shoots him a thumbs-up, and his gentleman friend blows him a kiss. He keeps his eyes on Juno as Rita drives away. She keeps one hand on the steering wheel and flips open the glove compartment. Contents: 1 chauffeur’s cap, 1 set of I.D. for Hylas Madrigal, Esquire (with Peter’s face on them), 1 plastic bag of counterfeit Kokayee-ne (actually baking powder from Rita’s kitchen), and 1 small blaster. The hat goes on her head; the wallet and bag go to the man in the backseat. The blaster stays in the glove compartment.

“Doctor Teeth,” Rita says, “be careful. I get that whatever Ms. Kanagawa’s got is important to you, but you’re important to Mr. Steel. So come back in one piece, you hear me?”  

Peter reaches forward and squeezes her shoulder. “Miss Rita, I won’t let you down. You have my word.” He’s _real_ good, Mister Steel’s gentleman friend. Rita pulls to the front gate, squares her shoulders, and rolls her window down.

“Mr. Madrigal here to see Ms. Kanagawa. He has a 2 o’clock appointment,” she says, breezily. There’s a long pause in which she wonders if the guard is asleep, and then the gate swings open. The small one, for foot traffic. That’s _sort of_ ok with Rita. Doctor Teeth flashes her a reassuring smile and disappears inside. Rita parks the car in the pre-arranged meeting spot, and turns on her comm.

“Ladybug to pomegranate,” she says urgently, “fox is in the kitchen. Over.”

“Pomegranate to ladybug,” Juno replies. “The oven is preheating. On my way upstairs. Over.” Mister Steel jumps into the passenger seat a few minutes later. And now they wait.

Somewhere inside, Mister Steel’s gentleman friend is conning Charity Kanagawa into demonstrating that the file on Iskander Miller is in fact _in_ the blackmail shed of death. Arson is pointless if it doesn’t destroy the target. Mister Steel has set everything up. When Peter gives the word, Juno will press a button, and the fire will begin.

“I like him, Mister Steel,” Rita blurts out. “He’s _such_ a gentleman, and a real snappy dresser, but also he seems like he’s real good to you? He sure does _look_ at you in the most romantic way, an’ I hope you get to see it sometimes, but I’ve only ever caught this one particular face he makes when you’re focusing on something else. He thinks you’re the dreamiest, Mister Steel, I can _tell_. It’s nice that he’s good at his job, too, even if it is kinda terrifying at the same time, and I _still_ don’t know his real name, but I hope you do, but even if you don’t, I think he’s probably worth it. Anyway, he’s a real keeper.”

Mister Steel smiles and nods in a sweet, fragile way, and then turns thoughtful. “What makes you think you don’t know his real name? He told you what you can call him in private.”

She sighs. “Mister Steel, you really don’t watch enough streams. Doctor Teeth? Really?”

“Ok, sure, it’s a bit unusual, but—”

“Mistah Steel, that’s a _Muppet_.”

“A—what?”

“A Muppet. You know. Big Bird. Gonzo. Kermit.”

“Are you just…saying words?”

“Mistah Steel, _honestly_! Boss, when this is over, we are having a _sleepover_. This is an emergency. How are you going to keep up with your sophisticated gentleman friend if you don’t know at least a couple basic Earth myths?”

Juno’s laughing now. “Ok, Rita. Sounds good.”

They fall silent again. Doctor Teeth still hasn’t returned, or turned on his comm.

“Soooo…” Rita says. “Your beau. He, uh, good?”

“He’s kinder than I deserve.”

And don’t that just stop the heart? But not what Rita meant. “Well, what about uhhhh his _overnight manners_?”

“Rita! How could you _ask_ me that?” Juno looks shocked, folds his arms and looks out the window. “He’s a sex god, _obviously_.” Rita giggles.

“I love him to death,” Juno adds.

“Oh, Mister Steel, _that_ goes without sayin’.”

Peter appears, launching himself over the fence without his coat and hat, and _sprinting_ into the backseat of the car. “Light it up, Juno!” he pants. Rita puts the car into drive and eyes the column of smoke in her rearview mirror.

“Looks like we can rest easy tonight, then,” Rita smiles. Doctor Teeth laughs tautly in the backseat, and Mister Steel turns in his direction.

“Rita! Stop the car! Just for a second.” She doesn’t even bring it to a complete stop, just a slow crawl, before Juno hops out of the passenger seat and into the back. “Here. Oh shit, you’re gonna need stitches.”

Rita whirls, horrified. Juno is holding a piece of gauze to his beau’s forehead. “Oh my stars and _garters_!” Rita swears. “Should I take you to the emergency room?”

“No, thank you, Miss Rita. This is minor—”

“—You need _stitches_ ,” Juno protests.

“ _Minor_ stitches. I’ve done worse myself in motel bathrooms.”

“Any chance I could talk you down? Or Rita?”

Peter touches his face gently. “Not the slightest, detective.”

“Then I guess we’re going home.”

Rita bites her lip unhappily, but puts the car into motion. Behind her, Mister Steel wraps their wounded fox in his arms. “Honey, you’re _freezing_.”

“Mm, you’re not. Lucky me.”

“You’re _such_ an idiot, I can’t _believe_ I’m in love with you.”

And Peter laughs so hard he cries, and Rita knows they’re all going to be fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Teeth, omg Peter. Juno likes Peter's teeth. I like Doctor Teeth. As Rita alludes, he's from The Muppet Show. 
> 
> Charity Kanagawa is from chapter 4.
> 
> Hylas Madrigal, Esquire: Peterrrrrrrrr! Hylas is a boyfriend of Hercules' in myth. A madrigal is a bit of medieval music.
> 
> Code names: the pomegranate is a symbol of the goddess Juno. Ladybugs are cute, and so is Rita. Foxes are...well. Peter is more imaginative than I am, but maybe not by much.


	6. +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents: hurt/comfort!

Peter’s forehead aches a bit. Juno bravely gave him three stitches and lots of soft kisses while Peter sat as still as he could in Juno’s bathtub, hopped up on aspirin and hard lemonade.

So. Now he’s curled up in bed with book and an ice pack. He’s impressed Juno even owns an ice pack. He sort of pictured him making do with frozen peas.

Juno is out somewhere being heroic. Or maybe just buying toilet paper. Peter had intended to be gone by now, on a shuttle to Neptune, but he’d canceled the job and slumped back to Juno’s apartment when he realized just how much he still felt like shit. Oh, he’s done space travel while feeling like shit before, but. _But_. Love made him soft, in a way, because now all he can think is that he could just go home and feel like shit in a bed that smells like someone who loves him. Seems like a good change.

He levers himself gently out of bed and pads to the kitchen for a cup of tea. The tin of rooibos he bought is not quite empty, and the mug Juno forgave him for chipping is still the perfect size. He drinks it slowly, holding his head still. There’s a potted Heirloom Space Zinnia on the kitchen windowsill, a thank-you present from the DiMaggio-Millers for “you know perfectly damn well what, even if it’s a secret. Xoxox.” He gives it some water while he’s rinsing his cup out. A delivery person left a package at the front door, so he grabs it on his way back to the bedroom, leaving it in the center of Juno’s coffee table. It’s got Kait Daye’s handwriting and her datefriend Felix’s return address on it.

Stupidly, Peter trips over his own suitcase in the bedroom. He’s gotten used to it being unpacked and stowed away. The jolt makes him dizzy, and he curses as he realizes what’s about to happen. He manages to stumble to the bathroom to throw up. When he thinks it’s over, he slumps against the cabinet, with the drawer pulls he fitted on, and wishes Juno was here to hold him.

It’s amazing, the effect Juno has had on him. Before, he’d have only cared whether his forehead might scar because it’d be an identifying mark. Now, he cares because he doesn’t want Juno to worry. He keeps catching himself being tender with _himself_ , because everything and everyone Juno loves deserves it, because he loves Juno.

Juno comes home about an hour later, by which time Peter has been still, and distracted by his book, for long enough to feel a bit human again. “Peter, that you?” he calls out.

“I guess,” Peter calls back.

Juno crawls carefully onto the bed, and spoons around Peter’s back. “Did something go wrong with the Neptune job?”

“Mmm. I got all the way to the shuttle terminal before I realized I’d gladly _pay_ 40,000$ creds to lie down in our own bed, and not in a cabin.”

Juno’s breathe catches, and he makes a sound like he’s trying not to cry. Oh. _Oh_.

“I meant—I meant your bed, obviously. I’m not trying to take over, I just really _like_ being here, and—”

“Move in with me.” Juno _is_ crying, but he’s nuzzling softly at Peter’s ear as well. “Live with me, let this be our bed. I don’t ever want to tie you down—well. Not like _that_.” Peter giggles around a tight bubble of emotion in his throat. Juno takes a deep breath. “Let me be your home base. Don’t just come to visit me, come _home_ to me.”

Peter takes Juno’s hand and presses it to his chest, so Juno can feel how fast his heart is beating. “Yes. Yes, _please_.” He traces the backs of Juno’s fingers. “Love, I’m trying not to move my head—can you do a favor for me?”

“’S not a favor when you live together,” Juno says, with a coy dip in his voice.

Peter giggles again. “Kiss me.”

“Oh. ‘Course.” Juno very carefully moves to the other side of the bed, and kisses him delicately. “Peter, do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Peter does. He’s long since wiped off his makeup, and he’s wearing mismatched socks, boyshorts, and a faded t-shirt with a rip under one arm. He’s sure he looks a sight, but there’s awe in Juno’s voice that suggests otherwise, so he makes a noncommittal noise and snuggles against Juno’s chest. “You’re the most beautiful man alive, Peter Nureyev,” Juno tells him. And that’s not the truth, but he trusts Juno believes it. So he kisses whatever part of Juno is next to his mouth and slides into sleep—in _their_ bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Kids from 9 to 99, Do Not Mix Alcohol With Aspirin!!! Peter did, but that wasn't responsible.
> 
> And would you look at that, we're done! You can read the end-of-work notes if ya want. :)

**Author's Note:**

> And off they go into the sunset.
> 
> What's the timeline of this fic? Good question. Mmm, probably not a canon-compliant one. All set in a Martian winter, which lasts about 6 Earth months. 
> 
> You can visit me on Tumblr at cartograffiti.tumblr.com, and Pillowoft at pillowfort.io/Jackalope. 
> 
> You may also enjoy my other Penumbra fic:  
> "The Honey of Our Lit Up Veins"  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231420  
> Roses 2: Electric Boogaloo  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802014/chapters/42000761


End file.
